


The Marriage Prizes

by Janina, WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Dirty-talk, F/M, Name-Calling, Pegging, S&M, Unbeta'd, Vaginal Sex, fake dub-con, marriage prizes, references to past sexual violence, role-playing, sexplosion, the dirtiest things we've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: Sansa crafts a new scenario for her and Jon to work through some issues. By schtupping, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is a kinkfic Janina and I are doing. Sansa's "revenge", by Janina, comes next.
> 
> It's graphic, guys, super graphic. And involves a rape fantasy. So be warned.

From a young age, she far surpassed even her older brothers in language arts, mostly because she read books and wrote poems and stories for fun. She would script little tableaus for her, her siblings, and her friends to perform, craft poems, and rewrite stories she felt didn’t end well --- versions of history where Aegon the Unworthy was slain and Ser Aemon became king and got to marry his beloved Queen Naerys, things like that. She read and wrote so much that Maester Luwin joked that if she’d been a man, it would be a life at the Citadel for her.

After peace was achieved and winter ended, the Queen of Winter took advantage of her increased resources to finally learn the high harp, employing a music tutor to instruct her in the instrument, and later in the lute as well. She also recruited an artist to show her how to draw and paint--- an activity her husband joined her in, much to her delight.

She applied her creativity to her ruling as well, often developing new solutions, processes, and measures to serve her people.

There was one area of her life, however, that she never expected to become an outlet for her imaginative side.

Her carnal pursuits.

It started rather innocently (or, as innocently as such pursuits get). Her sweet, gentle husband sheepishly asking her to bind his wrists to the bedposts. At first, he said he simply wanted to see what would happen if she had complete control over him.

The experiment ended up yielding rather delightful results. The best part, as it turned out, was that with every repeated trial, new possibilities opened up. New ideas on how to tease him, control him, pleasure him, torment him sprung to mind.

Despite the fact that Sansa’s marriage to Jon was built on love, she’d not expected pleasure in the bedchamber. Aside from some cryptic assurances from Margaery Tyrell prior to her marriage to Tyrion, Sansa never encountered much credible evidence that women could enjoy such things. She’d heard plenty of bawdy songs, of course, but her mother and her septa never referenced such things when they instructed her about men and women. According to them, the joy women received came from their love of their children, and Cersei Lannister’s advice reinforced that idea. Sansa was under the impression that the feminine “moans of pleasure” that the troubadours sang of were probably just something women faked to please their men.

Her experience with her second marriage only seemed to confirm this. Ramsay would force her to praise him, to pretend to like it. Despite all the pain, if she complained, he’d hurt her more. It didn’t take long for Sansa to learn that if she wanted to avoid further pain and degradation, she’d have to pretend that her screams and moans were of pleasure.

Of course, Jon is no Ramsay. She went to her third wedding night nervous, but not terrified. She expected her new husband to take every measure to make the act as painless as possible. She even asked him to kiss her constantly throughout, as she did enjoy kissing him.

Jon, as is his habit, ended up crushing all expectations in the best of ways. Sansa learned that night that feminine carnal pleasure is very, very real.

Their little experiments together were just an expansion of their enjoyment of one another, and Sansa found that she truly adored having such control over the man she married.

But as time went on, she began to observe her husband in a different manner. She grew curious about the joy he got out of being restrained and at her mercy.

Getting Jon to explain it with words was a futile effort. He’s a soft-spoken, genteel sort, and when she asked him about it, he’d blush and mumble.

Inevitably, Sansa requested that they switch roles.

Jon, of course, hesitated. Indeed, she had to beg him to tie her up---- something she ended up liking more than she expected.

Her husband is skilled in many things, denying her is not one of them.

They both ended up enjoying the experience, as it turned out.

Except for one little thing. The exact thing Jon had feared.

As much as Sansa reveled in the experience of being at Jon’s mercy, there was no escaping her past, and the last time a man dominated her.

It didn’t happen all the time, but it every so often…

The solution that she comes up with, however, surprises even her.

As a child, she would write little plays for herself and the other children to perform like mummers. But her efforts weren’t restricted to scripting and performance. She’d instruct the others as well on how to perform, how things were supposed to be set up. Ever bossy, ever exacting.

Sansa decides to apply the same theatricality to this.

Of course, Jon is resistant at first. He lasts an entire day, in fact, before finally giving in.

And of course, he has conditions. She expects no less of him.

“I will  _ not  _ be Ramsay,” he insists, almost angrily.

“I would never ask such a thing,” she tells him, “No, my idea is altogether different.”

“Can you wear the blue dress? The one with the silver trim?” He asks. It’s by far his favorite.

“I’m afraid not, it’s too expensive to be torn off. But I can make some alterations of one of my plainer gowns to look a bit like it.”

“What about the pearls I gave you on your last name day?”

“Only if you promise to be careful with them. I don’t want them broken.”

And so on. The two of them are nothing if not meticulous.

It begins in the corner of their solar. Jon is ever so careful as he binds her wrists together with the sky-blue silk. He makes her test the give of it twice. “Remember, ‘Frost’ when I should go softer, ‘Ice’ to take a break, ‘winter’ to stop completely, ‘Flurry’ to keep going. If you can’t speak, shake your head and roll your eyes to stop, tilt your head and bite your lip to slow things, and snap your fingers to continue. Now, are you… are you sure about the bits in the back?”

Sansa actually giggles. “For pity’s sake, My Love, I haven’t tolerated this thing in my arse for the past hour just to turn craven now!”

“Alright then.” He takes another blue scarf, and ties it around her head, gagging her. “Ready?”

Sansa snaps her fingers. Jon grabs his cloak and leaves.

He keeps her waiting just long enough. And when he returns, his gentle, concerned expression is replaced by a menacing leer. It makes her squirm a bit, in the best way.

This is the Jon in battle: furious, fierce, possessive, and controlling. The Lord Commander.

It lights a fire inside her. Usually, when Jon has her tied up, he’s teasing and playful. She was afraid that in this, he wouldn’t convey the right menace. But her Jon, as always, commits and doesn’t disappoint.

“Finally,” he whispers, eyeing her hungrily as he crosses the room. In a nice touch, he undoes his belt as he comes closer, though he leaves it hanging from the loops of his breeches.

Despite wearing the Stark cloak she made him, Jon shows his dragon heritage now. She’s kneeling, and he seems to swoop down upon her, ready to conquer.

He leans forward and looks into her eyes. “Hello, Lady Sansa. It’s been far too long, don’t you think? I haven’t seen you since you were a haughty little girl. But you’re not a little girl anymore, clearly.” He glances down her bodice at her breasts. Sansa tries not to smirk. She cut the neckline of this kirtle to be even lower than the dress it’s modeled on just for this.

He grabs her arm roughly and yanks her up. “To your feet, I want to see just how much woman you’ve become. Come now, Sweetling, shoulders back. Like a lady. And don’t forget your courtesies.”

She curtseys, earning a smile from him. He looks her up and down, clearly pleased.

“Good to see the maids did a good job cleaning you up. But then, it couldn’t have been hard to make you presentable. You were always beautiful. And now… You’re beyond that. A fitting prize for me, don’t you think?”

Sansa grunts, eyes narrowed.

“Ah! Right!” He removes her gag. “There we are.” His hand lingers on her chin, and he brushes her lower lip with his thumb. “Such a pretty mouth.”

Sansa glares. “Be careful, it might bite you.”

He does remove his hand, but he also laughs. “I hope not. I’d hate to have to knock your teeth out. I bet they’re as lovely as the rest of you. Let’s see that smile, then.”

Scowling while having this much fun is a real effort.

“Now Sansa, you of all people should remember the rules. A lady wife must obey her lord husband’s orders.”

“You’re not my husband! I’ve sworn no vows!”

Jon grins. “Didn’t anyone tell you? You didn’t need to. I had two of your uncles and your cousin sign the proper forms after I took them down, and my aunt was all too happy to stand in for you. We were on campaign, of course, so it was far too much trouble to have you dragged across the kingdom when we could still be married by law regardless. You’ve been my lady wife for three whole months now, in the eyes of gods and men. My marriage prize.”

She clenches her teeth. “You  _ dare---“ _

“---Oh, don’t fret, my love. You’ll still have a proper wedding ceremony. Purely a ceremony, of course, but it’ll still have all the pomp and grandeur you’ve always dreamed of. It’ll be good for my new vassals to see their lord formally take his lady before the Heart Tree. I even ordered the staff to fit you for a gown and begin arrangements months ago. It seemed prudent. We want to have the ceremony before your belly starts swelling.” He leers again. “Forgive me, but I’ve waited long enough, I think. My whole life, red-headed ladies denying me everything, a name, Winterfell, a future, a family. I’ve fought for this kingdom, saved you all from those frozen shits. Watched friends die, taken arrows and blades, even died once! I’ve more than earned my prize.”

He steps closer, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, his breath. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!”

She recoils, dodging his attempted kiss. He plants his hands against the wall behind her, enclosing her.

“Come now, Wife, you don’t have to pretend anymore. You and I both know you want this as much as I do.”

“You’re mad,” she cries.

“No, I just have an excellent memory.” He leans forward, lips teasing her neck as he whispers in her ear. “I remember everything, Sansa. What was it you always wanted? To be the wife of a heroic prince who would slay monsters and men, to be a queen, like in the songs. I saved you and everyone else. And I’ve slain enough monsters to fill the Narrow Sea. There are plenty of songs about me. And even you must have heard the news about my origins by now. I’ve even been recognized by my aunt as her heir. I’m a prince of the Iron Throne, you’re my princess. You may be the next queen, and our sons could be kings. Even better… You led an army to return to Winterfell, you wanted it so badly. And here you are. We may never have to leave.”

He clutches her breast and grinds against her hip so she can feel his hardness. “Just admit it, Sansa. This is everything you ever dreamed of. You want me as much as I want you.”

Sansa shudders and hisses. “If that’s true, then why don’t you untie my hands?”

He chuckles. “I’m not stupid. You’re your mother’s daughter. I also remember how you always saw me. Half-brother, bastard. You’re too haughty to admit how wrong you were. That’s why you’re refusing to admit it. You’ll come around soon enough, but until then, precautions are necessary. Now kiss me.”

She spits in his face instead.

Jon steps back, wipes the spittle from his face, then glances at her. “That was unwise.”

He grabs her arms and pulls her closer. She turns her head.

“You’re going to look at me, Sansa, you’re going to smile, and then, you’re going to kiss me. That is, if you don’t want this to be painful.”

She looks at him, she smiles, then she spits at him again.

“Pain it is, then.”

She winces, as if preparing for a punch, but he laughs.

“Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin that beautiful face. And besides, a hit might hurt for a minute, but what would that teach you?”

Sansa gasps at the tearing sounds, the feeling of cool air against her newly-exposed flesh. Her kirtle is now a pile of tatters at her feet, and she is naked before him.

“Ah, good,” he says, “Did they---?” He flips her around, makes a satisfied noise, slaps her ass, then turns her to face him again. “Just as I ordered, my wolf girl has her tail!”

The plug does, in fact, have a tail. Sansa attached it herself.

Jon reaches up to stroke her scalp. “The maids obey me, as you should. They know the consequences if they don’t.”

Sansa squirms a bit more. First punishment. Perfect.

Her husband pulls her pearl hair pins from her crown, causing a few locks of auburn to fall into her face. The pins are two-pronged, a fact that the two of them have taken advantage of before.

Jon proceeds to relocate them to her nipples, squeezing the tips between the prongs and causing her to cry out in pain.

He twists her right one in reply, his other hand no running down her body, stroking and groping her flesh.. “Hurts, doesn’t it? It didn’t have to, Sansa, you’re the one who chose pain. No matter what you say, this is all how you want it.”

His free hand moves between her legs, stroking her sex, just pushing slightly between her lower lips. He laughs again, then raises the hand, showing her his glistening fingers.

“Clearly,” he says, pleased, “Your upper lips may lie, but the ones down there can’t. You’re soaked, you little slut.”

Sansa whimpers and turns her head away. She wants his hand back. She wants to grind against him like a bitch in heat. If she looks at him, all forceful and dominating, she’ll lose control and do exactly that.

But just like that, his whole demeanor suddenly shifts, and he backs away, breaking all contact. “Sweetling, are you alright?”

Sansa looks at him. Her dragon-captor is gone, and her sweet wolf-pup is back.

She smiles. “I’m  _ fine,  _ Jon! If anything, you’re not being rough enough. Flurry.”

He grabs her again, more forcefully, and pulls her against him. He takes his kiss, and it’s bruising, crushing. His tongue wrenches into her mouth, invading every corner of it. Sansa struggles and squirms. He pushes them both against the wall, so hard that she feels like she’s being crushed. His length rubs against her sex, the texture of his breeches driving her mad. Luckily, in this position, her “struggling” means she’s free to grind against him all she wishes without disrupting the fantasy.

When he finally pulls away, her knees buckle, and he’s quick to push her down so her face is roughly level to his crotch. With one hand, he cups her chin, forcing her to look at him. With the other, he takes her long braid and lifts it.

“I love this hair. I can’t wait to see it spread out on my pillow. But I think for now, we’ll keep the plait. Can you guess why?”

She knows exactly why, but she pretends not to.

“Well, you see, Sansa, I’ve decided that these lips,” he thumbs her lower lip again for emphasis, “Are done lying tonight. So, to stop them, I’m going to shove something between them. Now, when I do that, you have two choices. You can suck me off like a good little whore, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you to the bedchamber. Or, you can try to bite me, and then… Well, I’ll have to drag you to the bedroom by your hair, then strangle you with your braid while I fuck you. Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good.”

He unlaces his breeches, freeing his cock. He doesn’t even give her time to react before shoving it in her mouth.

He’s so rough, in fact, that for just a second, she’s almost scared. But instinct takes over and she relaxes her throat just in time for the tip of his cock to reach it. Good thing, too. If she hadn’t, she may have gagged and actually bitten him. And she’d never forgive herself if she hurt him.

It gets better, because he begins with instructions and taunts. “Hum a bit, and run your lower teeth along…. Yesssss… Taken to it, haven’t you? Yesss…”

It doesn’t go on for very long, though. Not surprising, as he’s probably very, very close. She certainly is. Her hands struggle against the scarf, yearning to touch herself.

“That’s enough for now,” he gasps, pulling from her mouth, “Good girl. Now, time to consummate. And we won’t be needing this…”

He yanks the ribbon at the end of her braid off, and quickly un-weaves her hair so it falls in a crimped curtain around her shoulders. She resists the urge to smile. Her hair always ends up unbound and falling loose at some point when they make love. Jon is mad for it. She’s entered the bed chamber with an ornate, fastidiously plaited bun that took hours to pin and bind into place, only for Jon to yank it all free within a few passionate minutes. Not once has she emerged from his arms without her hair cascading loosely about her shoulders.

A few seconds later, he’s swooped her up and thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, making sure to grope her arse as he carries her to the bedchamber. He throws her onto the silver furs and flips her onto her stomach, then goes to unbind her hands.

As soon as her wrists are free, she struggles, but not for long. The scarf remains knotted around her right wrist, which he quickly goes to tie to the oak bedpost.

He uses another scarf (which she stashed under the pillow beforehand for convenience’s sake), to bind her left wrist to the other post, forcing her onto her knees.

Jon moans, then proceeds to slap her arse, again and again. Sansa cries out at the sharp stinging. The throne is going to be very, very hard to sit in the morning.

Her husband positions himself behind her and forces her to spread her knees a little more.

She feels him hesitate, which will not do. She’s so close. So before he can say a word, she shouts, “FLURRY! FLURRY!”

He grips her hips roughly and begins rubbing the head of his sex against her mound. “You ready for my cock in that soaking cunny of yours, Wife?”

“NO!” She screams, “GET YOUR BASTARD PRICK AWAY!”

He smacks her arse again, even harder than before.

“Fine then,” he growls, “I know another fine place for my bastard prick…”

Sansa gasps as he pulls the plug out of her. When he leans over to retrieve the vial of oil from the bedside table, their eyes meet.

“Flurry,” she whispers again, and he goes back to her arse.

“NO!” She screams as he inserts an oil-slicked finger. “STOP! IF YOU DARE----!”

“I fucking dare,” he grunts, inserting another finger and stretching her, “Because you belong to me, Sansa. You don’t want to be fucked like a proper lady wife? Then I’ll fuck you up the arse like a whore until you  _ learn.” _

Sansa turns her head to look into his eyes, to glare. “I swear… If you---“

She’s cut off when he shoves a third finger inside her.

“For your disobedience, I ought to just shove it in, un-slicked, and fuck you bloody. But I’m not, I’m preparing you. You should thank me for being so merciful. Now, I’m going to fuck you like a back-alley slut until you come to your senses and begin acting like a proper marriage prize.”

His fingers slip out, and his cock slides in.

It does hurt, and Sansa can’t help but scream. Tears form at the corners of her eyes. Sansa swallows. “Frost!”

He halts with a grunt, then pants. “Frost?”

“Frost,” she confirms, “Not ice. Frost.”

His hand snakes around her waist and between her legs. He finds her nub at once and begins working it.

“You’re still fucking soaked, Sansa,” he grunts, thrusting in and out of her, “You’re fucking loving this, aren’t you? You like your husband’s bastard prick in your arse, you little whore?”

“Please…” She moans, “Please…”

“You’re mine, Sansa, and I’ll prove it. You’re going to come from my bastard cock in your arse.”

By this point, she’s adjusted around him. She doesn’t want to break the mood, though, so she snaps her fingers. Jon begins pounding her, faster and harder.

At last, she peaks, eyes rolling back, limbs going weak.

Jon pulls out of her. “I thought so.”

He unties the bedposts, then flips her onto her back. Their eyes meet as he binds her wrists together above her head. He hovers over her, dominating, lustful, terrifying.

“Understand now, Sansa?”

She nods meekly.

“Say it.”

“I… I’m your wife,” she whimpers.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means I belong to you.”

He smiles and moves so he’s lying atop her, skin to skin, leaking cock pressed between them, hoisted up by his elbows. Their faces are inches from each other. “Why is it,” he asks, “That you would belong to a bastard like me?”

“Y-You’re not a bastard,” she replies, “You’re a prince. A hero. You saved us all from the Others. You’re the prince I’ve always dreamed of, I just didn’t know… We were wrong. You were denied everything your whole life… a wife, Winterfell, everything. And you saved us anyways. And now, you’re not going to be denied. It’s all yours. I’m your lady wife, and this is your castle, and you are my prince and lord husband.”

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she gasps, “I’m so happy. I’m so happy I get to be yours and give myself and our home to you. And give you sons.”

“So you’re ready to be my Lady Wife?”

She nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.”

“Are you sure you see it now?”

Sansa smiles at him. “Yes, I’m happy to be your marriage prize. Honored. You showed me. Even being---“

“---fucked up the arse like a slut?”

Sansa’s eyes widen. “Wait a moment. Ice.”

Jon pushes himself off of her. “What is it?” He asks, anxious.

Sansa glances at his man’s staff. It’s nearly purple, leaking at the tip.

“That,” she says, “How have you not spilled yet?”

Jon actually gives a sheepish smile. “Sansa… We’ve been married for a year now. And for the last eight months, you’ve been tying me up, teasing me, forbidding me from coming, doing all manner of things to me. I’ve acquired quite a bit of… endurance… as a result. Though, acting like such a shithead does help temper things a bit. But… uh… can we…? I don’t think I can hold on for much longer.”

“Oh! Right! Flurry!”

He falls on top of her again, and she resumes her fearful act.

“---Fucked up the arse like a slut… felt so, so good. Being your wife would be wonderful. I won’t be trouble anymore, I’ll be a good wife.”

“…And?”

She almost forgot. “Thank you for being so merciful and preparing me instead of hurting me like I deserved. Thank you for showing me. Now please… Please take your prize. Make me your lady wife…”

He pulls her legs apart, grinning, and in seconds, he’s inside her. Sansa moans at being filled, relishing the desperation with which he makes love to her. It’s quick, with him spilling his seed in just a couple of minutes, and he cries her name as his peak comes.

For a moment, there’s silence, then he collapses, rolling over so he’s only half on top of her.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, resting his head against her left breast and squeezing her right one possessively. He makes a point of removing the pins, which is a sweet relief.

Sansa pretends to shiver. “Y-yes. I’m yours, forever. I-I-I hope you’ve seeded me. I… I love you, Husband.”

Jon’s mouth curls and he opens one eye. “Do you really, Sansa?”

She nods. “I love my handsome, strong, gallant husband,” she says, pretending not to mean it, “I love your eyes and your cock and your thick, dark hair.” She begins to move again, awkwardly bending her neck.

“What are you doing?” He asks, as if doesn’t know.

“I’m trying to kiss your hair. I want to feel how soft it is.”

Jon chuckles. “Always the hair.”

“I… I like other things, too, Husband. Your chest and and arms and stomach are so well-muscled, and you have lovely skin, especially the scars, they’re very brave. You’re so…” Sansa sighs, “…Beautiful.”

“Not half as beautiful as you, though,” He takes a deep breath. “Would you like to touch my hair, Sansa?”

“…My Lord?”

Without replying, he pushes himself up and reaches for her wrists. In seconds, she’s free. Her hands fly to his scalp, fingers lacing through his dark curls. He chuckles and resumes his former position. He takes one of her hands briefly and kisses her knuckles. It’s sweet and gentle.

Then he glances up at her again, eyes menacing. “This is a privilege, Sansa. These hands are only to be put to good use, right?”

“Right.” She strokes his cheek. “But if you wish to tie them again, I of course understand.”

She holds her wrists together, eager to prove herself.

His mouth twitches. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you rather liked being bound.”

“You don’t.” She says, then immediately pretends to regret that. “I’m sorry! I mean…”

“I know what you meant. It seems you learn quickly.” He smirks and goes to tie her wrists again. “Little minx. Now, get some sleep, because I promise you, you won’t get many opportunities for it from now on.”

“Yes. Goodnight, my lord.” She shuts her eyes and waits for him to relax. And she waits.

She opens her eyes just a crack to make sure he’s (pretending to have) fallen asleep.

The truth is, at no point during this whole episode was she truly, completely bound. She could have slipped out of the knots at any point. But that’s the point. Her cruel, conquering dragon of a husband is incompetent, but it’s better he believe he had her truly restrained so she could slip out and act when she had the chance. There was no way she could have fought him off before--- he’s too strong. But now that he’s “asleep”, she can act.

“Ice,” Jon murmurs, opening his eyes and lifting his head. Sansa slips her hands from the scarf and rubs her wrists. She was about to call it herself.

“Sorry, Love, but I’d like to have a bit of a wash and take a look at your arse before you set about getting your revenge,” he says, “I went at it rather rough, and I’d like to make sure I didn’t do too much damage.”

“Agreed,” she says, rubbing her nipples and wincing. “We could both do with a wash and such. I think I’m going to need the balm. On my breasts, too.”

They clean themselves up and Jon applies the balm to her skin.

“Erm… How does everything feel… Inside?”

“Sore, but nothing beyond that. I’m glad you suggested the plug, though. It definitely helped me adjust.”

“Good.” Jon answers, standing at her dressing table, cleaning said plug, “ I don’t mean to fuss, but I’ve never buggered anyone before, so…”

Sansa nods. She knows from experience how to tell when something is wrong.

They curl up together for a short while, taking a bit of a rest.

Sansa’s hand finds its way between his legs. Smiling, she cups his stones. He grins, eyes still closed.

She gives his sack a little stroke and a tug, and feels the tell-tale spasm. “Ready to suffer my revenge?” She whispers.

Jon opens his eyes and moves to bind her hands again, then resumes the position he’d been in before calling for the break. He shuts his eyes again.

“Flurry.”

Sansa grins. Part two begins.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa narrowed her eyes as she looked over at her new lord husband. Sleeping. Nearly snoring, really. Tugging on the scarves, and then slipping them loose, she made quick work of untying them. She then looped them around one of his wrists and tied it to the bedpost, and then the other. She tugged on them, making sure they were tight enough. His eyes popped open and he tugged on the scarves. (Her Lord Commander would never have slept through such a thing, but in the interest of this game, they decided he would). 

"Have a nice nap?" she asked. 

He narrowed his eyes at her and growled. "Let me go."

"No, I don't believe I will," she said as she climbed off the bed. She smiled predatorily at him. “I think you’re now my conquest. My prize.”

“Sansa,” he said warningly. 

“Now if you behave, Jon, we won’t have a problem. Just like I had to behave, remember?”

He growled low in his throat and she smiled as she made her way over to the now freshly cleaned tail on her dressing table. She put a few drops of oil on it discreetly, and then held it up, making a show of inspecting it. "Quite an interesting little device. Though it didn't feel so little when it was inside me. Would you like to know what it felt like, _my lord husband_?" She said 'my lord husband' in a drawl of distaste, letting him know exactly what she thought of him and their newly wedded status. 

"Sansa, do not dare," Jon warned, tugging at the scarves again. 

"You dared," she said simply. "So I think I will, too." She strode over to the bed and glared down at him. "Spread your legs."

"No." He sounded almost petulant. 

"Do it or I'll find something to spread them. You'll be completely bound and at my mercy. Not that you are not already at my mercy, but I will be less kind if I have to tie your legs up."

Jon glared at her as he slowly spread his legs. 

"Filthy bastard," she snarled. "That's what you are."

He stiffened, his jaw clenched, but he remained in position. 

She stared into his eyes, a silent question. He nodded, and she shoved the plug up his arse. He let out a long, loud bellow, almost sounding like Ghost when he howled. 

"What a good boy you are," Sansa cooed, caressing his arse with the tips of her fingers. "Is it in well enough?" she asked, and pushed at it. He gasped, and she stopped and looked at him. 

"Flurry," he gasped. 

She smiled, pleased, and looked down. He was hard. “Oh my. You’re hard, my lord husband. I think you like the plug after all.” Reaching down, she began to use the tips of her fingers to trace along the veins and ridges of his cock. It jerked under her ministrations and she swore she heard him moan. When she looked up at him, she found his jaw clenched and his eyes like slits. He was holding on by a thread. 

He whimpered when she took her hand away and she smirked as she climbed up on the bed and straddled him. She rocked against him, letting her wetness coat his cock. His hips lifted, seeking more friction. “Tsk, tsk,” she said and moved further up his body until her cunt was just about over his face.

“You’re going to lick me until I scream, bastard. And if you bite me, I’ll suffocate you with my cunt. Is that understood?”

He nodded, grunting. And then she lowered her cunt over his mouth and leaned forward to grip the headboard. At the first contact of his mouth on her, Sansa moaned and gripped the headboard tighter. The things he could do with that mouth…that tongue… 

She rolled her hips, helping him along, showing him just where she wanted the most attention. Jon didn’t disappoint. She ground harder against him, heard his whines and small gasps for air, but Sansa did not relent. She instead gripped his hair at the top of his head and pushed him further into her cunt. She was chasing her pleasure, and by the Seven he was going to give it to her. 

Her peak came crashing down over her and she tightened her grip on his hair, hearing him give a sharp cry somewhere in the distance. 

Then he was mumbling against her folds and Sansa thought perhaps she was killing him. She moved back and peered down at him. 

His face was wet and he was gasping. 

“Oh, Jon, did I truly suffocate you?” she asked worriedly. 

“Only a little,” he said. Then he grinned. “Flurry.”

“You’re going to make me peak again, bastard. So you best get hard again.”

“I’ve no desire to fuck you,” he said, but even to her ears he didn’t sound like he meant it. 

She stormed over to him and twisted one nipple with her fingers. “No? You don’t?” She looked down at his cock. It was growing hard. She twisted harder. He let out a shout. She frowned, and he called out, “Flurry!”

She twisted the other one, then both. He screamed. 

Now, he was fully hard. 

She climbed back on top of him, keeping the phallus inside him and placed him at her core. Slowly, she slid down. 

He groaned. 

“This is how you do properly fuck a woman, bastard.”

She bounced on him, stopping every so often to rub her nub against him. Then she would start again. They watched each other intensely, their eyes never leaving one another. Then, his lashes began to lower and he moaned. He was close. She lifted up completely off of him and he shouted, “No!” looking desperate and wild.

She pointed at him. “Do not peak until I tell you to.”

“Why should I listen to you?” he rasped. 

“Because if you don’t, I won’t let you peak at all.”

He nodded once, curtly. 

She took him back inside and set a steady pace. “Tell me how I feel, Jon.”

“Hot,” he said through clenched teeth. “Tight. Wet.” His eyes rolled up and he gasped. 

She stopped again, lifting herself up. He was practically weeping. She loved it! “Do you remember what I said?” she asked primly. 

“Don’t. Peak,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Sansa reached her peak, shouting for all of Winterfell to hear, thinking now he would just help himself. He didn’t. 

She slipped off of him on unsteady legs, panting. He was sweating from the effort to not cum and his cock was slick with her juices. He looked pained, and he kept gasping as though trying to calm himself but yet not quite able to. She’d made him wait before, but not like this. However, he hadn’t asked to stop, so she was going to keep going. 

She strode over to her dressing table and picked up, under a cloth, a hunk of ivory carved into the shape of a rather long and thick phallus. It had been a gift from Jon a few moons back, placed here for their play. 

She held it up and inspected it as she had the plug. When she looked over at Jon, his eyes were wide and she caught a hint of fear. She smiled broadly. “Interesting that you should have such a thing, bastard,” she said. “But then I guess not, being a bastard and all, you must have quite a lusty appetite. And you do seem to enjoy buggering. Tell me, have you ever been buggered?”

“No,” he said, sounding strangled. 

“I can’t hear you,” she sang. 

“No!” he shouted angrily. 

She laughed. “No need to be so angry, Jon.” She prepared it, slicking it with oil and then carried it over and showed it to him. “What do you think? Will this do? I think I’d like to take you like – what did you call it? A back-alley slut?”

She pulled the plug from him none-too-gently and he grunted. “Now let me see if I can get this right…” she said and pressed the tip of the phallus against his arse. 

“Sansa,” he gasped when the head slid in. She looked over at him. He nodded. 

She pushed and kept on pushing despite how he cried out and shook. She kept checking. He kept nodding. 

When it was finally mostly inside him, Sansa began fucking him with it. He cursed. He cried out. He shouted. “Bloody fucking hell! You bitch! You prissy bitch!”

“Yes, but this prissy bitch has you at her mercy don’t I, bastard?”

“Fuck you!”

“No, _my lord husband_ , I believe I am fucking _you_.”

She got up on the bed between his legs and as she fucked him with the phallus. 

“Stop!” he screamed. 

“No!” she shouted back and kept fucking him, twisting it inside his arse until he was howling. 

His cock remained hard. Keeping the phallus shoved inside him, she took hold of his cock and he roared, “Sansaaaa!” 

“Do you want to cum, bastard?”

He was practically weeping. Pathetic.

She stroked him with one hand and used the other to move the phallus in and out of his arse. “Please, please,” he begged. “Please, Sansa…have pity.”

“Why should I? You had no pity for me,” she snarled and took her hand off his cock. 

“Noooo!” he wailed. “Please!”

“You’ll come when I tell you to!” she shouted. 

“Yes, I will, I will,” he panted, tears leaking from his eyes. 

She took hold of his cock and he whimpered. “Now,” she said. He let out a sob of relief as his seed spurted out of his cock in an arc, the first jet hitting her on the cheek. Then her hair.

Then she moved. 

He cried out, his hips jerking up, his cock stabbing at the air as he came. 

She wiped the seed from her hair with a cloth from the dressing table. Then she swiped the seed off her cheek with her finger and marched over to him. She stuck her finger out to his mouth and said, “Lick.”

With a soft whimper she did as he bade. He looked a wreck. Completely broken and at her will. 

“Has my lord husband learned his lesson from now on?” she asked as she made her way to the phallus that was only half inside him now. She twisted it just slightly and he groaned. 

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, my lady wife.”

“What a good boy,” she cooed. “Good Jon. Very good, Jon.” 

“Winter,” he gasped. “Please. I want to hold you.” 

She untied him quickly and he gathered her up in his arms and held her close, kissing her again and again. 

“I am yours,” he murmured. “I have always been and will always be yours. Is my lady wife happy?”

“Happier than I thought I could ever be, my lord husband. I didn’t hurt you too much?”

“No. I loved every bit of it. Shall we clean up and rest?”

She nodded and smiled, liking this part even more – the part where they tended to one another after their play. 

After, sated and exhausted, the two curled up under the furs and held each other, Sansa already thinking about their next play session…


End file.
